


Meat

by queenofhell_proserpina



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: Cannibalistic Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofhell_proserpina/pseuds/queenofhell_proserpina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No slur in his voice, no hesitation, like he’d thought about it before and decided a long time ago, <i>Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna eat Billy</i>, and had just been waiting around for Billy to ask the question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meat

1\. Breakfast

Billy once asked Joe, “What would you do if I died?” He’d meant _**left** , what would you do if I **left**_ , but he was chickenshit, and drunk, and didn’t feel like starting a three-hour-long argument over a purely fucking hypothetical situation. Besides, the way Joe looked at it, dying and leaving the band were pretty much the same thing, anyway. 

Joe was just as drunk, but he’d swallowed down the rest of the vodka and said, “I’d eat you.” No slur in his voice, no hesitation, like he’d thought about it before and decided a long time ago, Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna eat Billy, and had just been waiting around for Billy to ask the question.

Joe grinned, showed his sharp teeth to make it a joke, but Billy knew him too well for that shit. Joe lied with the truth, and Billy knew that if Joe woke up one morning to find Billy OD’d in a pile of puke or dead from some untreated, laughed-off head wound, Joe would eat him raw, get drunk from whatever booze was left in Billy’s bloodstream and pick tar-blackened lungs out of his teeth.

Billy’d thought about getting out before they had that conversation, but after that…after that, he started making plans.

2\. Lunch 

Billy has a lot of scars, and stories to go with them. This one’s from a back alley fight Joe started with some rednecks that Billy had to jump into to save Joe’s sorry, stupid ass; that one’s from Joe throwing an ashtray at him that time he was coked out of his mind (no, the other time; no, the other other time); this one’s from when they were kids and Joe tried to do some fucking rock star move and clocked Billy with his guitar.

Yeah, a lot of his scar stories are also Joe stories. Go fucking figure.

This one’s from when Joe fucked him. After Billy woke up, after he’d started fighting and cursing and trying to get the fuck away, Joe bit Billy on the shoulder, hard. Hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to leave a scar in the shape of Joe’s teeth. Its faint, but its there. It’s the scar story, the Joe story, that Billy never tells.

When he felt Joe’s teeth, Billy stopped struggling and went limp, digging his fingers into the mattress. He thought, _He’s gonna eat me, gonna eat me while I’m still fucking alive_ , but as soon as he stopped fighting Joe stopped biting, started kissing instead—no, not even kissing, just dragging his lips, animal-like, across Billy’s shoulders. He kept holding him down, though, slurring, “Stop fighting, Billiam, stop fucking fighting me, you fuck,” into Billy’s neck, even though Billy wasn’t fighting at all.

One more argument, one more slap in the face realization that Joe wasn’t gonna change, and then Billy was gone before the bleeding even stopped.

3\. Snack

Later, when he was in LA and fucking around in people’s apartments, sleeping on couches, he read this book about how some ancient tribe of warriors used to eat their enemies’ hearts to become stronger. To become more like them.

It was the kind of book Joe would read, and probably had read, because as much as he liked to pretend that he pulled shit out of his ass or sucked it out of the universe, he spent more time at public libraries and used book stores than anybody else Billy knew. He read everything, history and anthropology and fiction, hoarding knowledge like a drug stash.

In his more optimistic moments, Billy liked to think that Joe just hadn’t gotten around to the psychology and sociology sections of the library yet. It could happen any day, really.

Reading that book, it just confirmed Billy’s suspicions that he was right to get out. Whatever Joe said about him being a fucking pussy, a sell-out, a corporate cocksucker, about him abandoning the band, abandoning Joe, it was all just bullshit cover. Joe wanted to own him, wanted to eat him, wanted to devour everything that Billy was until there was nothing but this merged organism, Joe-Billy—-with Joe as the primary, of course.

Billy, all he ever wanted was to fuck around with a band, play some good music. It didn’t matter with who, so long as he had a guitar in his hands. Fame, money, recognition--all the rest of that would just be a bonus, the cherry on top. Joe was the one who wanted something that could be a part of him until he died, something that would go on after him, something that could last forever, and Billy was the one smart enough to know that nothing ever did.

4\. Dinner

Billy got there right before they carted the body away, just enough time to see Joe lying there in a puddle of blood and piss. Billy’s heard before that you piss yourself when you die, but he’d never really thought about it in depth, just a passing “ha ha” moment. It’s still kinda funny, even though it’s Joe.

If Billy was ever stupid enough to check out, he’d hang himself. He’s heard that all the blood pools to your dick, and you get to come right as you die. One more fluid added to the puddle, but at least it’s a fun one.

When he kneels down near the body, outside the crime scene tape, he thinks about what Joe’s said all those years before, about eating him, and thinks that Joe must’ve never seen a dead body before. There’s nothing appealing about it at all, just dead meat marinated in sweat, blood, and piss sauce. It’s not Joe. There’s nothing left of him in there, and even eating his heart wouldn’t bring any of him back.

Of course, he remembers waking up with Joe’s dick inside of him (and isn’t that just another “ha ha” moment, a little play on words there). He didn’t know how long Joe had been fucking him before that—long enough to work his way inside, long enough to get a rhythm going. Long enough that Billy waking up had fucking surprised him. He thinks about how he must have looked, passed out, breathing slowed by the booze. Probably his pulse was slow too, sluggish through his body. Billy knows now that he hadn’t looked dead, but Joe probably wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

He wonders if Joe had been hoping that he was dead, if Joe felt the same tiny, stifled sense of relief that Billy feels now, like, “Thank God, at least its fucking over”. Only for Joe, it was probably more like, “Thank God, I can finally eat Billy and fuck his corpse.” Something like that.

Next to Billy, on the street, there’s a tiny drop of blood. It’s still wet, so it has to be Joe’s—probably flew out of his fucked-up head and splattered there on the pavement, waiting for Billy to come along and find it. It’s barely even anything, not even enough to taste, but Billy presses his finger to it and brings it to his mouth.

Billy’s had Joe’s sweat, spit, blood, and piss in his mouth before—all part of the never-ending fun that came with being part of Hard Core Logo. This blood right now isn’t any different than any of those times. He doesn’t feel closer to Joe, or whatever’s left of him now. It doesn’t give him any sort of insight into who Joe was, or why he did it, or what the fuck he was thinking.

Of course, the difference between Billy and Joe is, Billy never really expected it to.


End file.
